


Toques To You

by Mums_the_Word



Series: Did I Ever Tell You? [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Chefs, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While not exactly a case-driven revelation, nonetheless, Neal divulges how he came by a unique expertise gleaned from a past life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toques To You

 

     Neal strolled into the White Collar office on Friday of a very slow workweek. It had been nothing but mortgage fraud cases ad nauseam until Neal’s eyes had started to cross. This morning, he had stopped at his favorite upscale coffee bar to reward himself and Peter for making it through the last four days without going stark raving mad. After arriving on the 21st floor, he trotted into Peter’s office, placed his caffeinated gift in front of his handler, and plopped down in the visitor’s chair. He then placed his feet up on the desk and grinned. Peter looked up with a preoccupied expression on his face and absently swept the offending legs off without his usual flourish.

     Neal studied Peter’s solemn face intently and a small spark of hope ignited.

     “Peter, you look very serious. Do we have a new case?” Neal asked eagerly.

     The FBI agent finally looked up and his answer was less than enlightening. “What? Uh, no—no, we don’t.”

     Now Neal was baffled. “So, what’s with this deep contemplation? Are you perhaps pondering the mysteries of life? Are you trying to figure out String Theory, the astrophysical origin of neutrinos, or what is at the bottom of a black hole in space? Maybe you just want to understand where the illumination goes when you turn off the light switch?”

     Just to shut his partner up, Peter finally did relent.

    “A reminder just popped up on my phone. Next week is El’s birthday, and it’s one of those milestone birthdays, you know. She’ll be turning forty, and I’m not sure how much of a big deal I should make about that.”

     Neal smiled, “A birthday is still a birthday, Peter. They are meant to be celebrated with gusto, no matter how many years one has resided on the planet.”

     “Uh huh.” Peter was infuriatingly non-committal.

     Now, it was Neal’s brow that was furrowed.

     “I think the real heart of your problem is that you don’t know what to get her as a present. Am I correct in my assumption?”

     “Well, maybe,” Peter mused. “I was thinking of downplaying it this year, just to be cautious. Flowers might be nice and safe.”

     Neal was now actually frowning.

     “Peter, that’s really not as safe as you think. Flowers definitely have their unique use in the art of love. However, if you give them to simply mark an occasion, that is way too uninspired, and it reeks of blandness. Flowers should be given for ‘ _no’_ reason—a spontaneous, unexpected gesture that women adore because it means that they have been preoccupying your thoughts. Or, flowers should definitely be given when you’ve screwed up and are begging for forgiveness for whatever transgression that you have committed against your spouse, either real or imagined.”

     Peter huffed out a sigh. “Neal, you make everything so complicated! Maybe I’ll just buy her what she has been talking about recently—a treadmill.”

     Neal groaned out loud. “Peter, just fall on your sword right now. It will definitely be less painful than the slow death that you will be forced to endure at home if you buy Elizabeth a piece of exercise equipment!”

     “But it’s something that she really wants,” Peter said in his own defense.

     “It is also an innuendo that says that you agree that she needs it because she’s out of shape or, God forbid, overweight. If you persist in your folly, Peter, that’s where the atonement flowers come in, if you survive, that is.”

     Peter was thoughtful was a minute. “Okay, so how about this. I give her flowers, but I also make dinner reservations at our favorite Italian restaurant. And, as a backup plan, I give her a Fitbit or a membership to a gym.”

     Neal hung his head. When he finally could bring himself to meet Peter’s hopeful eyes, he laid out the ground rules.

     “Peter, you need to be bold and, dare I say, innovatively dashing. Now, pay attention!

  1. No exercise equipment of any kind or any facsimile thereof.
  2. Nothing with electrical plugs, so no appliances for the kitchen or anywhere else in the house.
  3. No mundane, boring neighborhood restaurants with wine bottles on the table holding candles.
  4. Flowers only as an adjunct to something grander in nature.”



     Peter was beyond frustrated. “Neal, I have managed to hold onto the woman that I love for ten years, even if I am bland and unimaginative!”

     “And I want that blissful union to continue,” Neal parried, “so, don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Tomorrow is Saturday. Tomorrow we shall embark on a quest for the perfect gift to insure that the Burke marriage endures into perpetuity.”

~~~~~~~~

     Peter met Neal downtown early on D-Day. Their first stop was an upscale jewelry store with a helpful sales clerk. She brought out tray after tray of sparkling necklaces, unique bracelets, and stunning earrings. Nothing seemed to pique Peter’s interest.

     “How about one of those eternity bands,” Neal suggested. “The ladies are all wearing them and seem to love the bling on their fingers.”

     The clerk obligingly hoisted two long trays atop the counter. Peter pulled a few from their places in the black velvet, eyed the price tags, and paled.

     “Maybe something with pearls,” he suggested quietly.

     As they moved to a different case, Neal placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

     “Pearls are certainly nice, Peter, although a little matronly and staid. I usually picture Barbara Bush when I think of pearls.”

     The two partners eventually left the shop with empty hands, but Neal had an idea.

     “You know, Peter, Elizabeth’s birthstone is the ruby. I think Mozzie still has all that equipment from our Burma caper. I could make you a ruby, and you could have it set into a nice, elegant pendant.”

     “Moving on,” was Peter’s only reply.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Neal was still determined to make this work.

     “Okay then, how about something chic yet tasteful. Since your initial concept was something useful, how about a monogramed attaché case or messenger bag. It certainly would be very utilitarian because Elizabeth could put all of her proposals and planning sheets from Burke’s Premier Events inside, and carry it back and forth to her office.”

     “Yeah, good idea,” Peter agreed. “Let’s go look at those!”

     Neal dragged Peter into Gucci and explained what they were looking for to an effeminate young Italian. Effusive in his zeal, the clerk quickly brought a cream-colored leather attaché case from the stockroom. It displayed a sophisticated dark grey and bordeaux trim, as well as the palladium-finish double G trademark.

     “This is from our latest line,” the salesman gushed. “We haven’t even put it in the showcase yet. Your lovely wife will be the first to own one, and it will become her signature piece!”

     Peter’s eyebrows reached for his hairline when he found out the price for this little square tote. Back out on the street once more, he kept muttering to himself.

     “$4,000 and the damn bag has somebody else’s initials on it. When you said monogrammed, I expected it would be El’s initials. So, please explain to me, how can it become El’s signature piece?”

 Neal just sighed, and this time he was the one to say, “Moving on.”

~~~~~~~~

     The two partners took a break for lunch to fortify themselves for what promised to be akin to climbing Mt. Everest. But, Neal had never been a quitter, so he was determined to go down fighting.

     While thoughtfully munching his rare roast beef sandwich, Peter had another idea. “How about something that El could wear?”

     Neal instantly perked up. He had visions of visiting “La Pearla” or “Agent Provocateur” and watching bodacious models in sexy lingerie strut their stuff.

     “Good job, Peter! So, we’re going with lascivious! That gets my vote.”

     But, oh no—Peter’s notions were on a whole other ethereal plane.

     “What?—No, Neal! Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m thinking maybe a pretty silk blouse or a nice cashmere twin set.”

     “Right,” Neal snarked, “that strand of pearls that you didn’t buy will look enchanting nestled against a ‘nice’ sweater!”

     Nevertheless, Neal next dragged Peter to a haute couture designer’s showroom. They settled themselves onto a brocaded settee as a parade of rail-thin models with pouty faces pigeon-toed down a short runway. Peter was less than impressed.

     “These …. costumes look like something Madonna or Cyndi Lauper would wear,” he groused.

     Neal was tired and finally ready to give in. “Okay, Buddy, I surrender. It’s off to a department store,” he said with a shiver.

     Once they found the ladies ready-to-wear section of Saks, Neal sent Peter off on an exploratory expedition while he ferreted out a comfortable chair. A half-hour later, Peter was back, and at least he had something in his hand. That “something” turned out to be a pink polka dot dirndl dress, cinched at the waist with a wide, fuchsia sash that made the skirt billow out at an alarming angle.

     At first, Neal thought this was a joke and remained silent, but Peter actually looked hopeful.

     “Pink is definitely El’s favorite color,” he declared.

     When Neal found his voice again, he stated unequivocally, “The only person that dress would look good on would be Shirley Temple when she was six-years-old.”

     When Peter looked like he was about to dig his heels in, Neal threatened, “If you insist on buying this dress for your wife, Peter, I swear to you that I will steal it, cut my anklet, and you’ll never see me or that monstrosity again!”

     With reluctance, Peter placed the hanger on a nearby rack, and sank wearily down beside Neal in an adjacent seat.

     “This whole shopping thing is more exhausting than all-night stakeouts,” he said morosely. “I’m tired, my feet hurt, and it’s making me cranky. It gives new meaning to that old saying, ‘Shop Til You Drop.’ For the life of me, I cannot fathom how women manage to do this and enjoy it. How about we call it a day?”

     Neal was only too eager to agree. “Yeah, sure, we can pick this up sometime early next week. We still have a little window of time to pull off the impossible.”

~~~~~~~~~~

       Neal was spared any more Peter-shopping torture because on Wednesday his handler appeared in the office with a pale blue velvet box in his hand. He proudly showed Neal a pretty gold necklace of two intertwined hearts suspended on a delicate chain. Neal was impressed. Perhaps less was more, and the CI suspected that Elizabeth would love and cherish it always.

     “Good job, Peter,” Neal exclaimed happily. “I think it’s perfect. And listen, Buddy, I’ve given this some thought. How about you and Elizabeth come to my loft on Saturday instead of trying to make reservations at some restaurant at the last minute? I’ll prepare a meal that is intimate and romantic, and then you can give her your gift over dessert after I add a little embellishment to it.”

     Peter’s pleased look turned to one of trepidation. “What kind of embellishment, Neal? If you think it’s perfect, then why do you feel the need to ‘embellish’ it?”

     “Perhaps I should have said ‘personalize’ it, Peter. Mea culpa for causing you any heart palpitations. I swear that it will be tasteful, and will appear on the back of the piece where only Elizabeth will see it.”

     “I don’t know if I should trust you, Neal,” Peter waffled.

     Neal gave him a sorrowful look. “You wound me, Peter. You know that I would never make you look bad, at least not in Elizabeth’s eyes. However, all bets are off for anyone else’s eyes,” he smugly amended so that Peter wouldn’t get too comfortable.

~~~~~~~~~~

    The day of Elizabeth’s birthday arrived, and she gushed over the bouquet of red roses that Peter presented to her at breakfast. He promised that her real present would be coming later that night. She was aware that Neal was preparing dinner for them that evening and was looking forward to it.

     When they arrived at Neal’s later in the day, they found his loft had been transformed into something beyond romantic. Fairy lights were enmeshed within translucent gauze elevated to form an intimate little oasis tent in the center of the open space. White roses appeared in vases on every surface, and screens with trompe-l’eoi scenes of cherubs wafting above billowy clouds ringed the room. Soft music was muted in the background, and an enticing aroma permeated the air.

      Neal made an appearance in a starched white shirt, sedate black pants, and with a crisp white apron secured around his slim hips. He ushered them to their table, and, at a leisurely pace, presented a five-course meal replete with wine pairings and delicate palate-cleansing sorbets between dishes. It was definitely French cuisine at it finest, with sumptuous, herb-infused sauces and complex flavors to delight the taste buds.

     Finally, it was time for the dessert course. With a flourish, Neal presented an airy but crunchy meringue-base tart topped with delicate Chantilly cream and plump raspberries with an enhancement of verbena leaves. He also deftly positioned a second dessert plate beside Elizabeth’s place setting. A small, pale blue box sat expectantly atop a nest of silver excelsior.

     Elizabeth eyed Peter shyly, and slowly opened the prize. She gasped when she saw the hearts nestled there.

     “It’s so beautiful, Peter,” she breathed. “I love it!”

     “Turn it over,” Neal urged her eagerly.

     When Elizabeth did as he asked, Peter held his breath. Suddenly, there were tears in his wife’s eyes, and her husband wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

    Peter had to see for himself what all this emotion was about, so he took the necklace from El’s hands and flipped over the hearts. Etched in tiny, meticulous script across the intertwined tokens of love were the words, _“I am to my beloved as my beloved is to me.”_

     “It’s a verse from the Song of Solomon in the Bible,” Neal informed them shyly, “and I thought that it really fits the two of you.”

     “It’s beyond beautiful, Neal,” Elizabeth reassured him as she swiped at her misty eyes. “Thank you for this, and for this amazing meal. How did you ever learn to cook with such intricate panache?”

     Neal suddenly grinned from ear to ear and pulled up a chair.

      “Well, since you asked, did I ever tell you about the time that I was a sous chef at the Restaurant Le Meurice in Paris? I was fortunate to study under the world-renowned and innovative Chef Alain Ducrosse, a true culinary genius, not to mention a really exacting taskmaster. He expects his kitchen to run like clockwork. The actual restaurant is located in a hotel on the Rue de Rivoli, and the dining room is almost a national treasure. There are rococo marble fireplaces everywhere, and pastel paintings by the masters on the wall. You can’t imagine the enchanted ambiance of starched white tablecloths and crystal chandeliers gleaming in the candlelight.”

     Neal would have continued to elaborate, but Peter had placed his foot atop Neal’s and was pushing hard.

     The con man suddenly stopped to take in Peter’s raised eyebrows.

     “Oh, right—romantic evening—three makes it a crowd! You can hear about my culinary adventures in Paris another time. Now, I’ll just make myself scarce,” he babbled as he pulled off his apron and headed for the door.

     “Please, just leave all the dishes. But, before you go, my present to you, Elizabeth, is on the easel.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     “He is so very sweet,” El said softly to Peter as Neal made his hasty exit. Peter grimaced and settled for a rueful little smile.

     “You may think so because he is always on his best behavior when he’s around you, El. You don’t have to put up with all his shenanigans at work that make me want to pull my hair out and drag him back to Sing Sing.”

     Elizabeth just favored her husband with a _“Now, Peter”_ expression.

     The loving couple leisurely sipped at demitasse cups of the strong French roast coffee that Neal had left in an insulated carafe on the table. Eventually, El made her way over to the wrapped package balanced on Neal’s easel. She carefully pulled away the pink bow and tissue paper, and caught her breath in a rush at what she beheld. It was a watercolor pastel representation of her face and upper body. Her eyes were looking down demurely, and there was a soft smile on her lips. Peter was right there behind her left shoulder, his cheek nestled in her hair as he gazed at her lovingly. Painstakingly painted in the hollow of her throat was the heart necklace. The entire painting was exquisite.

     Peter looked at his wife and finally admitted, “Well, I’ll concede that sometimes Neal does have his moments!”


End file.
